Ketchup and Grilled Cheese
by Kanoi-chan
Summary: Ketchup, Castiel thinks, is not so different from himself. It masquerades as something that could be healthy, has the base ingredients of something that should be, but in the end, it is not. It changes and alters all it comes into contact with. Sullies those it sullies those it touches. And if he were to continue the metaphor, what would that make the grilled cheese? 10x09 coda


Coda for 10x09 written for viscouslover, with an additional trope at the request of eveanyn. Love you ladies, and hope I did it justice for you!

You can find both of these lovely ladies on tumblr.

* * *

It's been three days since Dean once more lost control to the Mark. Three days since they dragged a shocked Dean out of the carnage. Three days since they brought an emotionally distraught Claire to the bunker.

Three days is a very long time.

"You gonna use that?" Sam asks, his voice breaking Castiel out of his daze.

"I'm sorry, Sam, what were you saying?"

Sam regards him with ill-concealed concern. Castiel feels such emotions would be better directed at his brother or the young girl now in their charge.

"Just asking if you were going to use the ketchup or if I could put it away?"

Castiel looks first to the sandwich in front of him and then to the large, plastic squeeze bottle. "Do people generally eat grilled cheese with ketchup?"

Sam shrugs. "Some do. But if you've honestly never had grilled cheese before, I suggest leaving it off for now. Enjoy it as it is."

That is just the sort of response Sam would give- enjoy things as they are. Castiel has watched Sam get adept at such things. It is a talent he, himself, has yet to master, so he reaches for the bottle. If he is going to eat something that may or may not taste like molecules, depending upon the current state of his stolen Grace, he may as well seep it in metaphor.

"Whoa there, buddy! A little lighter on the ketchup, man. Grilled cheese is unhealthy enough without smothering it to death in sodium."

Castiel furrows his brow, relinquishing his tight grip on the squeeze bottle. "Is ketchup not a vegetable?"

Sam actually laughs, head thrown back in mirth. It's the most joy the bunker has seen since before they left to answer Cas's call.

"Who the hell told you that? No! Wait. Let me guess. Dean, right?" Sam says it all with a fond smile, the slightest hint of happiness, but it's there, shining like a beacon in the dark. He says it as though Dean is still _Dean_, and not some fragile husk who has barely spoken in three days.

Sam sighs and shakes his head, smile never faltering. "Dude, ketchup may be made out of tomatoes, but it's not exactly good for you."

Castiel stares solemnly at the great, red blob of it on his plate. It has desecrated the grilled cheese, staining the whole thing and rendering it soggy. Ketchup, Castiel thinks, is not so different from himself.

It masquerades as something that could be healthy, has the base ingredients of something that should be, but in the end, it is not. It changes and alters all it comes into contact with. Sullies those it comes touches.

And if he were to continue the metaphor, what would that make the grilled cheese? Not Claire, certainly not her, for as much as he has been the cause of heartache and suffering in her life, she remains resilient. She remains strong and independent and her own unique force of nature. Castiel has damaged her, but she rose from the ashes a phoenix.

Surely then, grilled cheese must be Dean. Must be all things Dean is and has represented in his life. Dean is brusque to the outside eye. He has a tough exterior, something that requires effort to break through. Something that shatters under that force, just at bread crumbs break away from toast. But inside, Dean is kind and selfless and warm. There is a depth to Dean Winchester the world is not privy to. But Castiel has seen it. He has seen it in Hell, when he pieced Dean back together. He has seen it in the moments Dean thought we was alone enough while raking leaves to breakdown over his losses. He has seen it in Purgatory, where things were pure and real and Dean's utmost drive before anything else was finding Castiel.

And every time he has seen it, that warmth is slightly more dimmed, less and less of Dean's self left within. And that is all Castiel's doing.

He pushes back from the table and stands. "I'm sorry, Sam. I'm afraid I am not very hungry."

He leaves the kitchen with no further thought.

* * *

"You want a kiss?" Claire calls out as Castiel walks past the couch. It stops him in his place.

He blinks at her owlishly, stuttering out, "What?"

Claire's face immediately morphs into devilish amusement. "You're a nice enough guy and all, but you're still kind of wearing the face of my dad, so... big turn off."

Castiel's face flushes vermillion.

She seems to take pity on him, producing the giant bowl sitting beside her for Cas to see. "Hershey's Kisses, Cas. You want some?"

He shakes his head, color fading from his cheeks. "No thank you, Claire."

"You sure?" She waves the bowl under his nose. When he still doesn't budge, she sets it back down and settles him with a look in her eyes far beyond her years (all Castiel's fault, that's all he can see in it). "You're going to see Dean, right?"

It had not been his intention, though his feet had seemed to be carrying in him that direction, so he nods.

"Well," she continues, "I haven't seen him come out to eat anything yet today, so maybe a peace offering would get you through the door? Homicidal maniacs on empty stomachs can be a dangerous thing, I hear." He wants to rebuff her, to defend Dean in someway, tell her it's the Mark, and not Dean's own mind, that led to what they witnessed. Instead, he listens as she says, "Besides, chocolate cures a lot of ailments. Any girl will tell you that _at least_ once a month. And he deserves to feel better, just like those assholes deserved what they got."

In the end, Castiel grabs a handful of silver-wrapped chocolates before continuing on to see Dean.

* * *

Dean does not say anything as Castiel enters the room, just stares at him dispassionately, the steel in his eyes sending a chill down Castiel's spine that has little to do with his wavering humanity.

"I brought you Hershey's Kisses," he says in way of greeting, holding up the foiled candies in his hand as proof.

The whole situation obviously takes Dean off guard, as he raises an eyebrow. It's the most emotion he's shown since they returned to the bunker. "You brought me candy?"

Castiel's face heats up from a mixture of shame and uncertainly. "Claire told me chocolate heals many ailments."

Dean huffs out a breath that one could almost interpret as a laugh. The interpretation is further supported by the slight upturn at the corners of his mouth. Something warm sparks in Castiel's gut, something that feels like hope.

Dean shakes his head. "You're unbelievable, you know that? I tell you to take me out the next time the Mark takes over, and instead you bring me chocolate."

The words could sting if they weren't softened by the fond disbelief in his tone.

Dean looks up at Cas, and Castiel swallows around the lump in his throat. The poorly masked emotion - pain, sadness, regret, _wanting _\- in the green of Dean's eyes squeezes at Cas's chest.

"Well, Cas, come on, give me a kiss." It's meant as a joke, Castiel knows this. Everything from the lilt of Dean's voice to everything else he's ever know of the man to Claire's own words earlier insists it's a joke, yet Castiel feels possessed by an urge, and so he follows through.

The press of their lips together is quick. It is soft. It is chaste. And yet it is enough to break all the pieces of Castiel apart and slot them back together in an order which he never knew they belonged. But belong they do, as he feels more resolution over what he must do that he ever has before. There are no more questions, no more quandaries, no more split loyalties. _This_ was the missing piece Castiel always needed, without ever knowing.

Dean stares at him, gob smacked. Breathlessly, disbelievingly, he utters, "I meant the candy, Cas."

Castiel does not acknowledge this. Instead he says, "We'll fix this, Dean."

The smoothed out planes of Dean's face immediately crumple into anger. Into agitation. "It ain't broken, Cas!" he growls.

Castiel continues staring at him, undeterred by his ire. "I once said something similar to you, Dean. I think we both remember how that turned out."

It's enough to send Dean into chastised silence, no longer quite able to meet Castiel's eyes, but that's okay. Because Castiel knows they will fix this. Knows it as he once knew the heavens and makings of the Earth. Because this, this has always been his mission- to save the Righteous Man. He had only never truly known his motivation before now.

For ketchup may change what it touches, but it may also enhance.

And he thinks he'd very much like that sandwich now.


End file.
